


spend a little time with me

by belgard



Series: a man of distinction [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Car Sex, Dirty Talk, Excessive lube use, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Relationship, Riding, Semi-Public Sex, a heck ton of it lol, a little bit of fluff!!!, and confusion!, bc why not, but it's unclear, kind of?, kind of? well roger watches him, lube is necessary!, the return of john's white silk shirt, they're very un-established
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 13:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belgard/pseuds/belgard
Summary: after a night out at the pub, somehow roger finds himself in the backseat of his car with his bass-playing bandmate on his lap, looking like the filthiest dream.





	spend a little time with me

**Author's Note:**

> hey!!!! it's me again with another shite smut lol  
> please leave a kudos and comment if you like liked it! x

 

Roger is gasping for air.

 

“I can’t believe you’re gonna fuck me in your car,” he hears John pant against his lips as he moves one of his long legs over Roger’s thighs, effectively straddling him and shutting him up instantly. “This is so stupid,” John continues, gasping as he presses his hips down onto Roger’s, hands scrabbling to put a grip on his shoulder, the other buried into his tousled hair. Roger feels like his blood is _burning_ beneath his skin, sending him tons of signals to just this over with.

Roger can hear himself groaning out when he feels John’s tongue swiping against his bottom lip, hands immediately putting themselves on John’s waist as if he was made to do so. He tightens his grip on the bassist’s body just so when he feels John’s hands against his neck, stroking it up and down as he’s heaving with what seems to be need. Fuck, John sounds _really_ good, and somehow Roger finds himself addicted to everything he’s doing. They’re strangely entrancing, his actions. Roger has never found his partners as entrancing as John, ever. “God, I don’t fucking hear you complaining about it, now, do I?”

When Roger cants his hips up, he sees John’s head falling down to rest on his shoulder, his little whines so barely contained now that he’s hot all over beneath Roger’s hands. Roger feels dizzy, with John’s breath blowing against the side of his neck in short, heavy pants, and the way John’s gripping so hard onto his shoulder just makes him wonder just what _exactly_ could John be beneath all of that demeanour.

He feels John’s hands all over his chest, searching all over for the black buttons that keep his black sequin top together, and when he finds it, Roger almost laughs at how hasty John is with it, fingers scrabbling as he tries to pull out each button out of its little holes. Roger returns the favour, splaying his hands over John as he tries to find the pearly-white buttons that keep his silk shirt all covered up. He doesn’t even manage to go on more than three buttons before he moves away to nip on John’s earlobe, making him preen.

John is so unexpectedly _responsive_ —never in his entire life would he had guessed the bassist to be a rather noise one, letting out little ‘ah’ noises every few seconds as he grinds himself down onto Roger’s body and using his shoulders as leverage, as if he’s so desperate to take what he needs. The sight isn’t doing anything good to his sanity _and_ his wellbeing if he has to be honest, and how he ended up in the backseat of his car with John Deacon on his lap, he has absolutely no idea at all.  It all happened in such a flurry that if somebody were to ask him how it happened, he really wouldn’t know the answer.

Sure, Roger has thought about John once or twice, about his ridiculously-tight trousers that show off the delicate lines of his long legs, and how his pert arse seems to be lifted up by the four-inch platforms that he wears all the time. He has thought about how pretty John is with his gentle features and his long hair and his dexterous fingers, and he has thought about how John would be in bed.

But he would  _never_ once expect that John would be like  _this._

John is purring right next to his ear – rather shamelessly, if you ask him – moving his hips up and down as he sticks his groin flush against Roger’s, and he can feel John’s bulge against him— _fuck, he actually can._

“I’ve been thinking about this for so long,” John breathes out, his voice lilting just a bit at the end, his northern drawl turning thicker now, colouring his voice in an oddly-seductive tone that somehow manages to make Roger’s knees feel like they’re losing their feel. “She’s so beautiful, all I wanted to do is fog up these bloody windows.”

Roger pauses, feeling like his heart is about to burst out of his chest. He takes a moment to look at John on his lap, with rose-red lips and flushed cheeks, the loose waves of his long hair sticking onto his neck and his face. John is panting, lips parted in a way that makes him look sickeningly sweet and the complete embodiment of debauchery all at once. There’s a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and somehow it makes something inside of Roger swoon undoubtedly.  “Who’s _she_?”

John rolls his eyes and grinds down, harder this time, ripping a moan straight out of Roger’s mouth. It feels like a straight punch to his gut, the feeling of John’s legs tightening around his thighs, the way John’s skin grow hot, and hearing John’s shameless moan that just sounds absolutely wanton he can’t believe he’s hearing it straight out of his shy bandmate’s lips. “Your _car_ , idiot,” says John, his tongue flicking out a little to lick on his bottom lip. Roger can’t help it, he leans forwards and nips on John’s bottom lip, almost groaning out at how it feels beneath his teeth, and how filthy John’s whine sounds like next to his ear. “I’ve been thinkin’ about you, too, you know?”

That makes his breath hitch.  

“You have?”

John nods, enthusiastically. “ _All_ the time.”

Something inside of Roger just snaps, somehow, and it makes him wild with need, clouding his mind in such a way that makes him absolutely dizzy, and the only thing that’s consuming him is John.

Roger feels like he’s blinded by it, and when he grabs harder onto the bassist’s waist and pulls him even closer, he relishes the sound of John’s startled gasp, feeling a thrill shooting up his spine. He lets his hand wander upon John’s soft, soft hair, before he fixes it right on the back of his head and just _pulls_ on the strands, forcing John to tip his head backwards as he bites down a hiss. The sight is fucking wonderful.

Roger presses his lips down against a small spot near the back of John’s ear, letting his teeth bite down on the smooth skin, taking his time with it until he can hear every single purr that he could manage to pull out of John.

“Tell me then, Deaks,” he whispers, and he almost moans when he feels John shifting his hips over his groin. He’s going to die from this, he’s sure of it. John is absolutely _wicked_ , and he’s fallen for it. He noses his way down John’s neck, smelling his cologne right beneath his nose. “What did you fantasise about this? Us shagging in my car?” 

"I think about you fucking me right here on the backseat of your car," John pants out. "Or the front seat, I don't care. I think about -  _ah_ \- sucking you off while... while you drive. I think about wanking you off where anybody... could see us." 

John lets out a cry as he grinds down, and Roger can hear himself moaning loud and all high-pitched at it, not even caring if anyone can hear them this late at night. He tightens his grip, both on John’s hair and on his waist, feeling the way John just shudders beneath his hands, sensitive as ever, and it makes him light-headed. The way John is behaving is like something straight out of his deepest fantasies, those that send him reeling with the thrill of thinking about doing something with someone that he should _never_ be thinking of.

 God, Freddie is going to decapitate him, for certain.

“Y—yes,” John says. “Fuck, yes.”

“What else?” Roger fishes. “Did you think about us shagging at the studio too?”

John groans, loud. “ _Yes,”_ he says. “I think… about you, bending me over the mixing – _ah –_ desk. And fucking me right there for the others to see.”

Roger moans at that, biting down on John’s neck until he keens so sweetly over it. He feels like his nerves are all shutting down and turn hyper-aware all at once, sending delicious shivers down his spine whenever John does something to him that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head. He feels like he’s on fire.

“And… and then?”

“I think about us,” John pants, “and the chance of us getting  - fuck – caught.”

John goes to unbuckle his belt and discards his trousers, along with his pants, and just right when Roger’s about to unbuckle his own belt, John’s hand defeats him to it, unbuckling it for him before he pulls Roger’s trousers and pants down his thighs and to his knees.

“God, you’re fucking _filthy_ ,” he lets out, hearing in his ear how ruined he sounds like, his voice like fucking gravels. He doesn’t know that John even has the capability of thinking about things like _that,_ even though he knows that John is mature and sensible enough even though he’s just twenty-one, but still, the sheer shocking quality makes Roger’s skin buzz with excitement. “I wanna see you prepare yourself, John.”

“You do?” John asks, voice just above a breathless whisper.

“If you want to,” Roger says to him, splaying his fingers over the plane of John’s lean back. “Bet you’re so fucking pretty when you touch yourself.” Roger pulls him closer, and places his lips near John’s ear in his not-so-newfound boldness. “Do you think of me when you do it? Biting down on your fucking pillow ‘cause you’re louder than a two-pound whore?”

John mewls against him, and it almost makes Roger faint.

“I bet you do,” Roger says, heaving just at how cramped and suffocated he feels, but he’s so addicted to it, his breath mingling with John’s. The bassist’s legs tighten themselves around Roger’s thighs. “I bet you get off on the thought of getting caught wanking, and to what?” He sees John's teeth biting down desperately on his bottom lip. “To _me._ Imagine how Brian would react to that. I’d pay money to see that.” He nips his teeth on the corner of John’s jaw, relishing in the deep sound of his groan. “And Fred? God, I bet he’d pass out.”

“Stop talking about… about them,” John heaves as he lifts one of his hands to grip Roger’s chin harshly and keeps it still. Roger feels like he’s _burning_ with want—he has never felt like this in his life. All those girls, all those easy-lay groupies, and all those boys at campus who used to blush up when asking him out—they’ve all never made him _this_ mad.  “Just keep your eyes on me.”

Roger blindly nods. He’d do anything John wants him to at this point.

He goes down to take a bottle of lube and a string of condoms from the little pocket at the back of the driver’s seat and places it near him on the seat.

Roger knows that in order to make it work, John will need a _lot_ of lube, so he isn’t surprised to see the brunet pouring another generous amount of it over his fingers, before rubbing them together and warming it up. He’s poured so much that some of it has dripped from his fingers and down onto John’s and his thighs, but somehow the sight is just so fucking filthy that it drives him up the wall.

“Come on then,” Roger trails a finger against the subtle curve of John’s collarbones, placing his hands down on his hips as the brunet’s adjusting himself. He feels the corner of his lips slowly lifting up in a laugh, but he bites it down. There’s just a certain kind of ridiculousness this whole thing exudes, and it boggles Roger’s mind just a little bit. “Put on a show for me, Deaks.”

“Bugger off,” John says, and it pulls out a laugh right out Roger’s lips.

Then John’s demeanour completely shifts from that playful behaviour he’s displayed so many times before, his lids fluttering halfway close over a pair of darkening eyes, dusty-green and hazed up in such a way that it makes Roger still on his seat like he’s been frozen. John’s fingers go to prod himself back in his own arse, and Roger can’t really see, but he knows that John is not really putting it in, purposefully teasing himself, mouth falling open to let out a small gasp, eyelashes fluttering in the utmost prettiest way. Roger feels his own grip tightening on John’s waist, so much that it even surprises himself.

John suddenly shudders, and tips his head back, revealing the smooth column of his throat and he gently lifts his hips up and down on his own fingers, lips parted as he lets out soft moans that goes straight to Roger’s mind and planting themselves there for eternity. Roger doesn’t know what came over him when he leans over and bites onto the skin of John’s neck, feeling him gasp and his hips stutter.

The smooth rolls of John’s hips is perhaps one of the most sensual things he’s ever seen, and the way John slowly lowers his head to fix his eyes right onto Roger’s is perhaps right on top of that list. With every whine John’s letting out, he doesn’t let his gaze slip from Roger’s own, and Roger can feel his own blood thrumming beneath his skin, just at the burning need of Roger’s own mirrored in John’s eyes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” John bottoms out, throwing his head to the side and arching his back in the prettiest way, so much that it makes Roger want to trace every curve of his body with his tongue. “Ah, _ah,_ fucking _hell._ ”

John rolls his hips again on his fingers, making himself purr and mewl with every movement he’s doing, tongue flicking out from one corner of his mouth, red and enticing as ever. Roger feels the overwhelming need to _touch_ but he knows he needs to enjoy the view this once in this hazy night, he doesn’t know if he’d be able to anymore.

“What, baby,” Roger whispers against the skin of John’s neck. He doesn't know what came over him when he said the petname, but he notices John's cheeks growing redder at it. He bites down a smile at the sight. “Found it?”

John nods, closing his eyes shut.

“Just fuck me now, come on, Rog.” John shakes his head and moves to push Roger’s trousers further down his legs until they pool at his feet.

John goes to open the bottle of lube again and pour a _shit-ton_ on his hand, it’s almost like a fucking puddle, before he fists his hand and rubs his fingers together, some of it dripping down from his fingers and to their skin, making much more mess of themselves combined with the sticky residue of what John’s dripped on him before. Roger feels like he’s shivering, so he tightens his hold on John’s waist. John then goes to fist Roger’s cock in such urgency that Roger _jumps_ at it, eyes widening open as wide as saucers as his mouth is immediately opened in a voiceless gasp.

“ _Fuck_!” Roger hears himself yell out.

John just sends him a little apologetic smile, before he strokes his dick up and down, slowly, taking his time with it. John’s hand feels like fire on his skin, burning him and making him drunk with desire. Roger feels himself lolling his head back further against the seat of his car, eyes going to the back of his head just from the sheer ecstasy he’s feeling rushing in his blood. He feels it pulsating inside of him, growing slowly until he’s a panting mess.

“Fuck fuck fuck, Deak— _John_ ,” he lets out, hearing how his voice sounds absolutely wrecked out to his own ears. This time, John raises his head and looks at him with eyes so dark that Roger can’t see the cherubic-greenish tone it has. His eyes are dilated beyond belief, and Roger’s sure his are as well.

John bites down on his red lip, looking down at Roger and never leaving his eyes as he strokes, one, two times—each pull of his fist making Roger’s toes curl and his gut twisting.

“Come here,” Roger growls out, before he pulls John by the back of his neck to kiss him, deeply, not even caring if it’s wet and messy because there’s nothing coherent anymore in Roger’s mind that he can think about. John whines against his lips, and the sound _burns_ him. Kissing John feels like a drug, and somewhat it doesn’t hurt him when John accidentally bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds.

Roger hisses, pulling away sharply for a moment as he fixes his gaze hard on John. He stills in front of him, darkened eyes widened, perhaps with concern and worry, and his mouth is agape with disbelief.

“Sor—”

Roger cuts him off when he leans in to take John’s bottom lip between his teeth and _bites_ down on it, making John shriek until one of his hands go up to pull on Roger’s hair. It stings his scalp, but fuck, isn’t the pain fucking addictive. Roger soothes down the bitemark with a swipe of his tongue, and John grips on his cock once again, moaning in an unusually high-pitched tone against his lips.

“You’re so fucking pretty, John,” Roger confesses, and John eats it right up, groaning.

“Yeah?” John asks him, voice just above a whine.

Roger nods. “The prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” He kisses the corner of John’s lips, but to see him preen. “But you already know that, yeah?”

John sets his eyes on him, his glare burning so bright it sends a shiver down Roger’s spine. The bassist tightens his grip on Roger’s cock, before he briefly looks down to guide himself onto Roger. His skin is practically thrumming with anticipation at this point, so hazed up until he can’t think of anything else. Roger can feel himself, the tip touching John’s hole in such a tormenting way that makes him want to grip hard on John’s waist and pull him down at once, thrusting up at him to ease his need.

But he doesn’t do any of that.

John returns his gaze as he slowly lowers himself down, the feeling so deliciously _hot_ that it punches a moan out of Roger’s lips, his toes curling up. John moans loud at the feeling, unabashedly. The slide is easier considering the amount of lube John has gotten onto themselves, but still, Roger feels like his head is clouded, thick with the sudden wave of pleasure that John is giving him.

And then John moves, and somehow Roger can’t think straight anymore.

John lifts his hips up, before he drops back down, hard, and it almost makes Roger see stars. John is tightening himself on purpose, knowing how much it’ll drive him wild. And then he lets his hand trails from his neck down to his chest, the movements so deliberately slow and sensual, before he sets his fingers over his nipple and pinching it, making himself keen and twitch. Roger feels his jaw dropping at the sight, his mind completely blank of anything as he tries his hardest to figure out how the _hell_ the shy and aloof John Deacon could become this.. fucking devil? He’s out of his mind.

John’s skin is covered with a thin layer of sweat, and he looks like he’s shining beneath the night light and the moon. His head is tipped back, and his long hair is all over one of his shoulders in a way that makes him look like the most breath-taking painting he’s ever looked at. He’s flushed all over, and the way his unbuttoned white silk shirt is askewed, sliding down his shoulder, is just far too enticing for anyone to look at. Roger pushes it down further with force, unbuttoning one more of its buttons when it won’t go down, before he bites down onto John’s sharp collarbone, relishing in the way John bucks down, letting out a shuddered gasp that goes straight to his dick.

The sight of John like this, all of his coyness gone and bouncing on his lap, just fries the _shit_ out of his brain, and Roger is sure that he won’t be able to keep a beat over the entire month.

“ _Fuck,”_   Roger hears himself moan out, unabashedly, throwing his head back against his leather seat and shutting his eyes as the heat consumes him, and John feels absolutely perfect. When he opens his eyes, something inside him just burns, seeing the corner of John’s lip quirk up at the sound of him moaning like he hasn’t shagged in months.

Little bastard.

And then John rolls his hips just so, punching a whine out of Roger’s lips. He’s using his dancing prowess to good use, Roger thinks to himself, and so far it’s working. He tightens his grip on John’s hips and thrusts up, grinning when he sees John doubling over and letting out a moan so loud and wanton he almost passes out just from hearing it right next to his ear.

“W—wanker,” John groans.

“Right back at you,” Roger says in reply, as he lets a small chuckle slip past his lips.

John pulls back to give him a bone-chilling glare, before he braces one of his hands on the headrest next to Roger’s head and smirks down at Roger, the expression so lascivious that it makes Roger freeze up for a brief second.

And then John plants his knees on the leather seat and starts to bounce himself faster and harder on Roger, every slap of his arse on Roger’s thighs burning in the sweetest way possible. Roger tightens his grip even more on John’s hips to secure him, keep him steady as they both lose their minds together in this over-heated, over-cramped place.

Roger tightens his grip even more on John’s hips to secure him, keep him steady as they both lose their minds together in this over-heated, over-cramped place.

Roger won’t be able to drive his car without thinking of this for _years,_ he deduces.

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” he hears himself moan out, and John whines at that, panting as he musters up the stamina to keep on moving as fast and as perfectly-calculated as he possibly can. Roger can see it in his face, how fucking worn out he feels just by the deep flush of his cheeks and the way his eyes are all over the place, eyelashes fluttering open and close on repeat. His mouth is opened slightly, letting out some of the filthiest noises that’ll be able to keep Roger up for days.

“That’s it,” Roger says against John’s ear, feeling like he’s far too hot to function properly. “ _Look_ at you, Deaky.”

John just throws his head back and drops himself down so hard Roger’s able to briefly feel the bluntness of what might be John’s prostate. For this one, Roger lets John have his fun for a while.

“Christ,” Roger groans out, trying his hardest to not thrust up into John and get it over with. “You’re fucking _gorgeous_. You feel so good, John. Fucking perfect. You're being so good for me."

The bassist moans at that, going at it faster and faster. Roger knows that his thighs must be burning right now, but until he’s so tired out of it, he’s not going to do anything just yet. Not when he’s having John bouncing on his lap, randy and hot all over.

“Are you gonna keep on – _ah! –_ praising the hell out of me?” John pants out.

“What?” Roger says. “ _Mmh,_ you don’t like it?”

John shakes his head, clenching himself until a loud moan is punched out of Roger. “No, fuck,” John says. “I _love_ it.”

Roger throws his head back when he feels the tip of his cock graze against John’s prostate exactly, making his bassist yelp and tighten his grip on the headrest.

“Rog, I’m fucking tired.” John is panting like he just ran a marathon.

Roger then bites down a smile and keeps his hold on John’s body, before he takes note of that spot he just grazed and thrusts up right against it, grinning when he hears John moan like he’s been punched, dropping his head right onto the seat near Roger’s shoulder. Roger picks up his pace, trying to get what he needs, rolling his hips just so until he hears John purr right next to his ear, the noise vibrating right all over his body.

The sound of skin slapping against one another almost drowns out their cries, and Roger feels like he’s slowly losing his mind at how hot and ridiculously _tight_ John is. The feeling is enough to make him forget about anything else.

“Roger, Rog— _Rog_ ,” John whines out, his voice slowly going raspier by the seconds passing.

“Yeah, Deaks?” Roger musters up the ability to tease him just a little.

“Go a bit harder, please, please, _please_ ,” John cries out, like he’s so desperate for it.

Roger’s glad to do just so.

He plants his heels against the floor of the car and thrusts up with much more strength, trying to do whatever it is that can get them both to the end. One of John’s hand goes up to bury itself in Roger’s hair and pulls on it hard, until Roger is grunting from the sting, but somehow the pain only makes him drive into John more, punching moans out of his own lips and John’s.

Roger grazes the blunt spot more and more, until he sees John with his head thrown back, mouth parted with abandon, his eyes closed shut. He knows that he’s close, just by how his gut is wrenching with heat, the pleasure pulsating in his veins and growing red, red-hot, making him blind with it.

He knows that John is close too, by the way his thighs shake and his fingers tremble all over Roger’s body, lips opened to let out voiceless noises and the most desperate mewls that have ingrained themselves in Roger’s mind. Roger knows how loud he’s being – he can hear himself in his own ears – but he’s got no shame for it, and John certainly doesn’t act all coy about it, yelling out curse words and small noises that are amplified by the small space. Roger is able to catch each and every one of them, keeping them to memory.

He’s _really_ fucking close, god, he knows he is. They both are.

He feels his car rocking gently beneath him, and for a second he wonders how this must look like if some poor stranger were to walk right along this empty path, just to see a car shuddering with a couple of long-haired wankers in the back seat. But then, a corner of his mind supplies that he needs to focus on fucking John, and not what anybody thinks.

 He keeps going, and going, and going, keeping John’s hips in hands and choking out a grunt when John lowers himself down just as Roger is thrusting up right into him. John mewls at the feeling, dropping his head back on Roger’s shoudler.

“Is that good?” Roger asks him, and John nods at him, quickly.

“Come on, Rog,” John groans. “I’m close.”

“I’m—I’m close too, John,” he says, right next to John’s ear.

John stills his hips, and Roger keeps on thrusting into him as if it’s the last thing on his mind. John keeps on letting out these little staccato moans that just sends Roger’s mind reeling.

When John clenches himself, Roger goes to capture John’s lip in a bruising kiss, all of his moans swallowed up by John’s lips, bruised and slacked open. The feeling of John’s lips on his is enough to drive him wild, and when he swipes his tongue inside of John’s mouth, he almost melts at the sound of John’s whine. He lets him in anyways, because he knows that the only thing on their minds is release, and they need it as _soon_ as they can.

Roger keeps his forehead plastered against John’s as he’s feeling it reaching towards them closer and closer, and then he gives up, letting his head drop from John’s forehead and down to rest on his shoulder, ghosting his lips over the sweaty skin of John’s neck.

“ _Ah,_ Rog, I’m so...”

“I know, I—I know.” Roger is losing his mind.

The heat slowly consumes them, and when John comes, he lets out a voiceless scream, head thrown back and exposing the column of his neck that Roger has sank his teeth into, just enough to make John see white spots behind the lids of his eyes.  

When Roger reaches the end, he almost blacks out from it, legs shaking beneath John’s body on his lap, head dizzy from it, his pulse going into overdrive. His orgasm feels like a red light that’s reached it brightest – hot and fueled with electricity – before it slowly dies down, though the heat remains like a dream.

He presses a kiss onto the crook of John’s shoulder, slowly catching his breath.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

John chuckles as he trails a hand over the windows. The perspired glass leaves a trail of John’s finger as they go down slowly. 

It's raining outside, and they're far too worn out to function. It would be the best for the two of them to stay here for a while before going home. Roger doesn't mind it, he feels warmer with John right next to him, resting his head on his shoulder. John's hair is sticking onto his skin, but he doesn't care. 

“We fogged up the bloody windows,” John says.

“You can check that shite off your bucket list, Deaks.”

The brunet giggles, covering his laugh behind his hand. “Suppose I can now.”

Roger doesn’t know what came over him, but he lets the tip of his thumb brush against the soft skin of John’s cheek, heart almost jumping out of his chest when John turns his head to look at him with those dusty eyes, the haze halfway gone. His eyes are always so gentle, but this time there’s a little flicker of something mischievous that makes Roger’s skin buzz. He’s always so sweet, in the most wicked way that always makes Roger’s heart skip a beat.

“Deaky?” Roger asks, and John replies with a quiet hum as his heavy pants slowly calm down into gentle huffs of breath. “Do you… regret this?”

John turns to him all at once, staring at him like he’s grown a second head, before hitting his shoulder with the back of his hand gently. It takes a while for Roger to process everything, but John looks absolutely breath-taking like this, his sweaty skin flushed a soft red under the streaming nightlight, eyes glinting and lips all bruised, hair stuck to his skin in gentle waves. Even the way his silk shirt – that he’s sure belongs to Freddie – shines against his skin, somehow making him look otherworldly, almost.

“You taking the piss?” John huffs out a laugh, the sound amplified by the cramped space. “Of course not.” He sighs then, before a smile slowly forms on his pretty lips. “One of the best shag I’ve had.”

That punches a laugh out of Roger. “Really?” he asks him, twisting his expression into something naughty, to the point that John slaps his cheek lightly as he laughs.

“Don’t get cocky now, Taylor,” John says.

“Cocky?” Roger asks, plastering a mock-offended look on his face. “ _Never._ ”

“It’s alright, though,” John says. “If you’re not cocky, then are you _really_ Roger Taylor?”

“I suppose not.” Roger feels a smile growing on his lips, slowly, deliberately. Somehow he feels like he’s floating, right here in the back of his car, with John. “You know me best.”

John smiles at him, before he leans over to plant a kiss on his cheek. Roger feels himself freezing right in his seat, like he's been petrified. 

“You think so?” John asks him, and Roger’s going to go mad over the feeling of John’s breath near his face.

Roger lets his finger trail itself over the pad of John’s soft bottom lip again, feeling like time just stills as John keeps his eyes on him, never once looking away.

“I do.”

The sight of John’s gentle grin is enough to send butterflies in his stomach. It makes his toes curl, his mind dizzy, his heart pound, and his lips tingle.

The feeling is strangely overwhelming, but he likes it.

He’s _addicted_ to it.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> yeet my twt is @deaconism


End file.
